What Little We Deserve
by blackribbon31
Summary: This is a retelling of Love Never Dies. I loved the music but hated the story. The locale is returned to France for the majority of the time. Erik returns 10 years after the fire of the Opera Populaire to restore it. Immensely wealthy and with great success in New York, he finds Christine again with children and in an unhappy marriage. Australian version of LND guides the story.
1. Til I Hear You Sing

The room was meant to be a peaceful oasis. It was not too large or cramped. The ceiling had a great height and the tall windows brought in a lot of light. There was a door that led to the back of the property where the children often played outside. Snow blanketed the naked, aging trees and even the darkest nights were still bright. The snow lit up the property and the smiles on her children's faces always bought them a few more minutes playing outside. There was never a smile that bright on her face during her own childhood. And if playing in the snow made it happen, how can she deny it?

Christine watched her children from the room they planned to enjoy most of their free time. There were many hopes early on in the marriage. The fireplace warmed the room, and Christine could remember when it was just the two of them. Raoul always took a while to get a fire going. Shadows those wispy little flames made were no longer playful and celebratory. He builds bigger fires now and is more careless about it. He drinks with his friends, gambling away money, as the children play outside. Christine sees the flames as ominous now. Fire crackles as the men begin a disagreement, and Christine stares at a piano in a shadowy corner. The soundboard of the instrument was cracked and there were splits in various parts of the frame. Raoul gave it to Christine on their first anniversary since she complained of her loneliness and had difficulty settling in the countryside. He moved her farther than she thought they'd be after their marriage. Nearly a decade later, she had only visited her parents' graves twice and only when Raoul was with her the whole time. He didn't allow her to revisit her old home, the Opera Populaire, which was closed indefinitely because of the fire.

The corpse of a piano was pushed against the wall, out of the way. It had its own space once, and Christine often played for her children as Raoul would watch silently. She always felt a little awkward at first, but when that music played, it brought back memories. She would close her eyes and see him playing. The children would sing or ask to play and bring her back to reality. But when she was alone...she could pretend.

For years, Christine would sneak out of bed; a single candle in hand as she made her way around the dark house. It was too large for her but at night it reminded her of the labyrinth she was lost in years ago. She would pretend she was being guided by that masked man once again and make way to the piano. She welcomed every little creak here and there. There wasn't much noise around. The property was huge and beautiful with vast amount of land surrounding it. It was in the middle of nowhere and the nearest neighbors were miles away. It was strange to her at first, the silence. She grew up in an opera house filled with hundreds of workers and shared a room with ten other girls. Christine had gotten used to it. She found a way to muffle the noise and go about her thoughts. She never found how to push away the silence, who knew that would be more deafening?

The piano was overlooking the room but still had a view to the back of the property. It was fall then and there was a light rain. It would be muddy in the morning. Christine lit a few lamps, the soft glow made it light enough to see but dark enough to imagine. Her fingers would grace the keys, becoming familiar with them, taking her time to allow the memories to return. A few soft strokes of the keys, they were the higher notes and the sound always made Christine stop and listen. Made sure no one woke. The rooms were upstairs and in the opposite direction of the living space, they wouldn't hear either way. And Raoul was often too passed out drunk to notice.

She would play soft little lullabies at first, and some songs her father played to her. She meant to learn the violin but it would be difficult at times. Her father was too big a loss to touch upon the memories. He wouldn't have been proud of the life she made for herself; knowing it didn't even make her happy. Her other option would've also disappointed him. A masked man in the dark keeping his daughter in the limelight during performances and then hidden away with him the rest of the time. Keeping her away from the public for his own sake. No, Christine's father would have disliked either man.

Christine often played, relived the memories between herself and that masked man who lived in the labyrinth. The man who composed music too beautiful to keep hidden. The man who showered her with attention and showed her the true strength of her own voice. That voice she would run to in the dark, in the months leading up to their meeting face to face, who understood her problems. He provided her the support Meg could not match. And words of wisdom Madame Giry rarely gave her. The opera ghost understood what was to have loss in his life and the ugly reality it was to keep living without them. She loved that man before she even really met him face to face. In her darkest hours he was there, how was she to know he would only bring more? It was beautiful until he became desperate. He was wonderful until he realized she had other choices in life. Then he became ugly and dangerous. He became the man who intimidated her, followed her, and threatened the man she was beginning to love again. Those single roses, with black ribbon tied to a bow were once sweet surprises of his devotion to her. And later, she realized they were mostly reminders he was watching her. And he would always be watching her. But those were the bad thoughts…the wrong memories. In the very end, Christine knew he was just desperate and didn't want to be left. The opera house burning down, the people who died…it was just a horrible accident. It was never meant to happen.

Christine knew his true nature. After she made her choice, and he let them go unharmed, she knew it was never going to be easy. She loved two men who offered her very different lives, and a little dark thought popped into her head. Christine had an inkling that no matter who she chose, she was never going to be completely happy. But she pushed that thought away, and there was a relief she felt with Raoul. He was safe, kind, and loved her immensely. Because she had not seen his ugly side then, she didn't believe it to exist. Funny the things you believe in your youth.

She often played the piano in the middle of night, and sometimes the music would triumph over her reasoning and she would continue to play longer and faster. Play the wrong songs, forget about the peaceful ones and the children would start waking up. One by one, and they find Raoul when they're expecting their mother. Raoul made his way downstairs that night, wakened from a drunken stupor, and furious. He knew what her playing was about. Christine heard him coming, stopped playing and grabbed her candle to make her way back up. And he'd find her, take hold of her free wrist and question her about the playing in the night.

"How often do you really need to think about that man…that insane criminal? That killer who destroyed countless lives in the fire…how often, Christine? How often?!"

The violence that spewed from his lips scared Christine and she dropped the candle. A small fire on the rug and she quickly put it out. Raoul, in his fury, pushed the piano into a dark corner. Christine could hear the soundboard crack.

"This will no longer be played. I'll get rid of it soon." His voice was low but stern. Christine remained in that room until dawn that night. Her little oasis, the glow that it had before was gone. But that was months ago, and he never moved it out. It just sits sadly in a corner, this crippled little thing she once loved, now defeated.


	2. Ten Long Years-Part I

She can still hear the screams. The blood-curling roars coming from the hordes of men running down the streets of Paris. Black smoke bled into the night sky and a blinding blaze engulfs the Opera Populaire as citizens try to help the damned stuck inside. Christine was gone by then. She had been taken away by Raoul in the first hour of the fire. The smoke and blood all over her body washed away as Meg barely escaped through one of tunnels that lead into the Seine. She ran back to the burning building and found her mother searching for her in the crowds. The fire continued for hours. The bodies pulled out, whether alive or dead, were horribly burned. Meg and her mother would never forget the sights, the stench…all the noise. Hours into the night, anger would surface. After all the screaming, the cries for the dead, whispers of a masked man responsible for the fire ignited the crowd. Willing men grouped together, looking for others, to search for the monster. Once word came their way, Meg spoke up stop the madness. Her mother pulled her away from the crowd and whispered into her ear,

"It's done. Nothing can help him now." It was the only time Meg heard her mother give up. She stared at her mother in disbelief, who continued,

"We cannot stop the crowd. Their thirst for vengeance…this will only end badly."

"Where is he, mother?" She whispered in desperation.

"I'll look for him. If he had any sense, he would've stared running already. Go to the railways, find someone, anyone. The workers...the immigrants! Look for anyone who has a connection to the freighters. We've had some workers move on to different work and some have family around, don't they? You'll have a day, maybe two. But by then, Meg, have some way to get him out of France. I'll find him, keep him hidden until then."

"Mother, please be safe." Meg cried.

"I'll find a pistol somewhere. Don't worry about me. But Meg, find someone who can take him out of here. I don't care how! Have Mercier help you…he's one of the few people we can trust. See what you two can come up with."

Meg remembers how she ran into the night, blindly searching for a way, for hope. Mercier found a connection right away and sent Meg back with the good news. It had only been a few more hours. And dark sky was lightening into dark grey. It was before dawn when Meg returned to the Opera Populaire, which sat sadly into an almost collapsed state. Hundreds of people were still in the street, but it was worse. The streets were tense. There was some noise but it was quiet compared to before. Meg couldn't find her mother. Crowds grouped together, searching. Everyone's eyes were looking for something in the distance. Soon, people blocks ahead of her, away from the river, were squealing and cries can be heard. Some turned away, others ran off the streets, clearing away a path.

Meg's heart began to beat rapidly but she can only walk at this point. As she neared, her heart pounded harder and her body went cold. She walked faster and more people were running towards the buildings, clearing the streets. And that's when she saw it.

In the early hours of daylight, hordes of people filled the streets, screaming, weapons in hand. Running after a man, whose face was filled with blood. His face was swollen, bruised and bleeding, Meg could hardly tell apart either side of his face. It was _all_ ruined now. His hair was torn out. He was running with a limp and his now broken arm, straggling along. His clothes were torn and bloodied. One of his ankles was swollen and he was grunting in pain with each step. He spit out blood every minute.

He was making his way towards her. Her eyes struck with terror as she watched him running. She didn't know what to do. She didn't where her mother was. There were hundreds of people watching, some cheering, most just horrified and too scared to help. Many didn't know what to do, they just watched. They were dozens in the horde running after him, violence spewing from their mouths, weapons waving in the air. A few, very few, came together and to try to calm the crowd, stop some of them. But it wasn't enough. He was about to be killed. Erik ran passed Meg and onto the bridge. Meg chased after him. He didn't look back. He jumped over the side into the Seine River, quickly sinking. The horde ran to the river, waiting for a sighting. Policeman huddled together, trying to calm the crowd. They had been disorganized for hours and hours, since the start of the fire last night. They were all over place, spread too thin to do any good. Meg walked alongside the river, away from the crowds, wondering which way he went. Meg waited all day, walking back and forth by the river, as others did, trying to spot him. Eventually her mother found her.

Meg gasped when she saw her mother. Her cheekbone was bruised and swollen, and her wrist was broken. In the night, she had found Erik wandering the streets. This was when people were barely talking of the masked man responsible for the fire. She hid him quickly in a dark corner, trying to figure out how to move him. He was ranting of the great fire, and the bodies being taken out. He was crying, confused, and mumbling that it was him that did it. He was a mess and Giry could not take him very far. He pushed her back several times, trying to get away from her. He was guilt-ridden and astonished by how quickly the fire grew. He couldn't look away. He kept walking towards it. Giry begged him to leave. She eventually hid him in a building only a few blocks away. He could not leave it all behind. When the crowds grew, they started searching around for him. Eventually, they rampaged the buildings around, the businesses, trying to find him. It was close to daylight when one of the people who were helping them were scared they would be killed by the mob as well. He pushed them out as the mob neared. Erik ran and Giry pulled out a pistol, threatening the crowd. She got one shot out before a random person punched her, grabbed her gun, and kicked her. Another man joined in but they quickly left with the crowd after Erik. They chased him for maybe 30 minutes by the time he jumped into the river. During that time, a group of four men were able to catch him and beat him. Bystanders pulled the men off Erik and told him to run. But by the time Giry came around and was told all of this, news had spread he had jumped into the river.

Meg no longer cried as her mother told her everything she knew. After witnessing this mess, Meg no longer believed in the goodness of people. She could only feel gratitude that Christine had not been here to witness the horrid death.


	3. Ten Long Years-Part II

She was still. Her stomach was in knots and nerves on edge as she stayed in pose. A figure in the dark waiting, she cleared her mind from all past mistakes. She paid no attention to her mother's final advice. She didn't care if she was little late on her cue, Meg needed to take a quick little extra breath every once in a while. Performing was intense, and if her mother ever performed herself, she'd be more lenient. But she didn't and she wasn't lenient with any of the performers. She could feel herself almost break pose with all the nerves trying to reach the surface for relief. But Meg took a deep breath, her eyes stayed down, waiting for her cue.

Spotlight. Only on her and that's how she wanted it. Meg looked up to the audience, full house. It was becoming more regular and she knew triumph would be coming in the next few months. After years of hard work, of loneliness, and the confusion of being amongst new people…things would get better. She might even see _him_ more often. And maybe sometime without her mother nearby.

Her big, round eyes were commanding and her smile bright. Charming the audience was easy but there something in the air. Meg took a second to look up at the spotlight, surrounded by darkness and she knew he was there. He was watching. And she was glad. Because all the singing, all the dancing, and the discipline and suffering that came along with it. It was only for him.

She didn't get that feeling every day. In fact, she was wondering if he was showing up even less. But tonight was the night. He was watching her, wondering if she was worthy of something more. Something truly beautiful. The shows they had been doing were all fluff. Cheap vaudeville trash that paid the bills and built an, almost loyal, audience. Just a few more months of this and they would be able to take a risk and really give the audience a show. She and her mother knew…he knew. It was close. His music, his shows…his fantasies would soon take the stage.

Meg didn't really know what it was all about. She had seen some of sets underground, where he kept his little world hidden. He had been working on these mechanical, triangular cages that light up. And he mentioned how quickly he figured out how to rotate his stages in the center. And of course, there were the human sideshows. The freaks, as someone less open-minded would say. But some of that stuff was already at Coney Island. Simple little stands people walk by. Not really a show. Yes…they all know there would be no competition once Phantasma was truly off the ground. Nothing else at Coney Island can compare. It was only a question of when.

Meg kept the attention of the audience even after all the girls were on stage. Colorful, skimpy little outfits to entice the crowd, showing off their legs and the men ate it up. Meg was becoming a star but there whispers about something bigger at Phantasma. Rumors swirled that there was a man hiding in the dark, an elegant figure with a strange mask covering half his face. He was the rumored brains and talent behind the shows. But the low ranking dancers denied it. All the work that had been done was by Madame Giry. These were _her_ shows. But he was important, they would say, he was going to bring something big to Coney Island.

Oh yes…he was of such importance, none of the dancers had met him. He only spoke to the workers he brought in, the human sideshows, who were all a little too dark and intense for the other girls. The human sideshows kept out of the way, but after a certain point of Phantasma…it was their playground and the ladies knew it. Madame Giry advised the girls to stick to their side and only do as they told if are ever needed in the depths of Phantasma. The girls kept mostly to each other. The ones who had been there the longest had seen the man in the mask. The supposed Phantom of Phantasma. This was all talk amongst the girls of course. No one knew anything about the man. Some have only just heard of him, the sightings that made everyone excited and scared. _There was something about the man_, those who saw him would say. _You were frightened, yet curious. You were compelled to approach him but felt unsafe, _one of the girls would say. And it didn't really help the more Meg would see him, be alone with him…if only for a few moments, the more she wanted to remain with him. To please him. And the more desperate she became for his acceptance. The girls could see the danger in this. But it still intrigued them.

But none of the girls ever met the man. They would only watch him. Or be watched. The mysterious figure mostly kept to Meg and Madame Giry. The dancers only knew him as Mr. Y. But they could hear Meg and her mother call him Erik. No one knew about any of their pasts. This strange but talented trio from France, who were eager to make Coney Island their home. Meg even nailed the American accent. But none of the girls could understand why Meg would do that. Her beautiful French accent was so interesting and different. It made her stand out. And she never hid the fact she was French, and used to be a ballet dancer in her mother's opera house. In fact, they used that to gain prestige for their shows. But still, Meg and Madame Giry rarely spoke of France. They just focused on life now.

That night Meg sang and danced her heart out. And she was wonderful. After the show, Meg found her mother in her office. The high from knowing he was watching this performance still had its hold on Meg. She ran into her mother's office, excited,

"Mother, did you see? Tell me everything. I want details! He was there, wasn't he? Watching? What did he think, oh mother, was he pleased?"

Madame Giry was a little sullen and pushed away a newspaper on her desk. Meg could tell something was wrong but her mother smiled,

"You did very good. He was pleased, I could tell. Soon…soon he will write for you. It takes a while, you understand, for him to see you as his muse. Of course, he's expecting it to happen."

"You think he'll see me that way?"

"All men need a muse. Soon. It will happen. Keep your focus on that. Don't listen to what anyone else says. He will soon call for you, I'm sure."

"Thank you mother, I was wonderi-"

"You want these up now?" Squelch interrupted, one of Erik's assistants and a minor performer. He was a pale and round figure but in plain clothing. Not his usual red outfit. He quickly got out of his costume since he only had a small part at the beginning of the show. But some of his makeup was still on. He had a stack of posters in his hand, a new advertisement.

"I don't understand why we advertise shows for other theatres. Why should we help our competitors? And for what, to show…" Meg grabbed a poster. Her mother wanted to keep her away from that.

"They pay…for one thing. And second, it would be helpful to establish some sort of relationship with them. They aren't our competitor yet, they consider our work so low-grade we're not even a threat to them. I believe things will change in the coming year." Meg's eyes lost its shine at the sight of the advertisement.

"Daae…at the new Manhattan opera house? Christine, really? Mother?" Madame Giry couldn't tell if her daughter was sad or in shock with hope. Her dark eyes frightened Squelch, who mentioned,

"Um, I'll just put these up outside the theatre." He walked into the door before he could open it, rubbed his forehead, then left. The girls waiting outside for Meg saw her and asked,

"Meg, what's wrong?" But they didn't dare enter Madame Giry's office without permission. She closed the door quickly, hiding her daughter, who was still in shock. She handed Meg the paper, who read it quickly. Her mother made a drink for herself and for her,

"Here. You're going to need a few of these." Meg took glass and chuckled.

"But why? Christine, after all these years! Coming to New York!" Her eyes lit up with the memories of her childhood; she and Christine wandering the ghostly halls of the opera house. Dancing together in the shows, and she remembered all the dreams they had. All the dreams, they felt, were waiting for them. All they had to do was grow up. But life didn't turn out that way. Not for Meg at least.

Madame Giry could not believe what she was seeing. Her daughter's eyes lit up thinking about Christine and her own seem to darken at the thought. Her black eyes were shooting daggers at Meg as she slowly mentioned,

"And what do you think will happen once she arrives? You and her, friends again, long at last?! Don't you see what she will do? Don't be a fool, Meg."

"Mother, it's Christine. She was like a daughter to you." She dared say.

"Maybe once upon a time. Things do change." She sighed and looked away. She looked out the window, at the dark sky and stared at all the lights below. Luna Park at Coney Island, all lit up. Pure tourism. A cheap gimmick.

"We lost our home because of her. We lost everything and she lost nothing. In fact, she gained a husband, social status, and a career on the stage. Even fame for the crazed man who burned down the opera house for his leading lady. A tragic, unrequited love that led to deaths. A poor, helpless, young girl who got away from the crazed maniac. They all felt sorry for her. He was completely reduced to a stupid, violent psychopath. I was reduced too. We lost everything Meg, and _we_ suffered for it."

"Mother, that wasn't how it was."

"It doesn't matter. That's how it looked."

"She was my friend. If she comes to New York, I have to see her." Meg stood behind her mother, who couldn't bear to look at her. She put her hands on her mother's shoulder, who quickly turned back to her. Her dark eyes teary in hate,

"You will be replaced when she arrives! Quickly forgotten…after all this time, Meg. Erik will have this hold on her and he will not let go this time."

"Mother, please. That was all a long time ago. Things do change." She reminded her mother.

"This will not be different. Not this. What they have…you can call it love if you want. But it's a need. It's an urge to be with each other, no matter what. An _obsession_ that cannot be disturbed. Will not be. Not after all this time. Do you see the little you are finally about to get…only to be taken away with her presence?"

"Christine is married! She has a family now…she's a mother for Christ's sake!"

"She's still the love of his life, and I'll be damned if he isn't hers." Meg didn't want to hear this. She shook her head in disbelief and paced around the room. Her mother waited patiently in a corner, watching. She knew she was getting to her. Giry had to be delicate once she finally pushes Meg over the edge. Push too hard and Meg will see this for what it is. Control. No…Giry had to be fragile.

"And if she's coming to America, why do you think now? Erik is a calculating man and patient. He's bringing her over because, in his mind, it is time. He can finally have her. He wouldn't bring her over to just lose her all over again."

"Bring her? The newspaper said Oscar Hammerstein-"

"Meg, don't be foolish. Do you think Christine would come if she thought it had anything to do with Erik? Prey sometimes do try to avoid walking directly into a trap, you know."

"But then, how did he…?"

"That isn't our concern at the moment. First, we have to think about how to approach this. Of course, he'll have to see her the very night she gets in. Maybe we could-"

"No mother, stop. I, I don't know what to do. But I think, before anything, I should talk to Christine when she arrives. Perhaps, I could meet her ship-"

"No. Erik has already secured a welcoming party who will be taking her back here for her stay."

"She's staying _here_? How is it possible she doesn't know anything?"

"That fool of a husband is the one who's been in contact with Mr. Hammerstein, who's agreed to be the middle man. She will be making two performances one for us here, and one for his opera house. Of course, we paid for her trip and half his performance fee. He's doing this favor in return. They're not even aware of the existence of Phantasma."

"Don't they still think he's dead?" Meg asked quietly.

"Yes. That was when you two lost contact, wasn't it?" Her mother coldly said. Meg looked hurt and a little embarrassed.

"She no longer responded to your letters, correct?" Giry asked again, Meg kept her head down.

"Yes, mother. When are they due to arrive?" She wanted to change the subject. Her mother showed her this kindness.

"Soon. A few days. Maybe a week. Perhaps you should use that time to work on your performance and I'll see if you can perhaps see him sometime this week." Giry threw the newspaper in the trash and Meg excused herself.

Her friends were still outside, waiting for her but Meg avoided them. They just looked at each other and walked back to their rooms. Meg silently walked the hallways of Phantasma. Workers were still on their nightly routine, putting the stage to sleep. A lot of the dancers went out to enjoy the rest of the night. As Meg walked deeper into Phantasma, there were less people and she welcomed the silence. She needed time to think, to sort her feelings out. She needed time alone.

But at this time, the sound of her own footsteps seemed to be getting louder. The floor had changed, she was deep in Phantasma. On the other side, with the human sideshows. This didn't bother Meg. Fleck, Squelch and Gangle were her friends. No one ever caused her trouble. In fact, maybe talking to them might help. Although, at the moment, it started getting darker and colder. There was some electrical work here but there were still a lot of candles, torches and lanterns being used. It was very pretty, light seemed more fragile here. It reminded her of home. The opera house…the dark little nooks few knew about. Where Christine took her to when they were younger and spoke of an angel. An angel of music, she insisted. Who spoke to her, gave her wisdom and strength when she needed it. Meg didn't always believe it until Christine's singing improved. It transformed her, really; and secretly, she hoped that angel would one day speak to her. And transform her. Meg was walking through a memory when she felt a strong hand on her right arm, and she quickly spun about. It was him.

That figure in the night, that masked man…the Phantom of Phantasma. Meg was always taken a little back by his height. His elegant posture, that almost statuesque stance which commanded attention at once. He wore a dark coat with a high collar, which resembled his cape from his youth. And his mask was more angular now, a little more threatening. His hair was still black and slipped back. He looked a little older now, she could see him getting wrinkles in the coming years. But he would only look more attractive, more authoritative. And his wounds, his old scars that he doesn't let anyone see. Meg has always looked to them over the years, the little bits that peak out from under his mask. They look better every year, less harsh. But she never got to see his full face, and the years of waiting have only increased her curiosity.

"Erik. Sir, what can I do for you?" Her voice was a little quiet but in the silence it didn't matter. He didn't say anything. He just took her hand and led down the corridor. The already fragile light becoming more delicate, fading out as he led her to his part of Phantasma.


	4. Chapter 4

Meg remembered all the warnings she told Christine when her angel of music proved to be a man. A man hiding in the dark, a ghostly shadow in the opera house, the very one people were afraid were responsible for all the mysterious happenings at the opera house. The control he had over the owners, and Madame Giry, this was not a man to trust. She told Christine this. And yet, as Christine grew closer to him, those warnings were lost on her. And she never understood why. Until now.

Her hand in his, and immediately it began. All those speeches, whether trying to use their friendship to keep him away or simply staying away from her as an act of tough love, his hold on Christine never wavered. There was nothing Meg could do to counter the effect he had on her. And all that history he had with Christine, all those things her mother told about him, good or bad, melted away. History unraveled before Meg, and all she could see was herself and him. Nothing else mattered. No one else was involved. And she even though she knew it to be false, she did something terrible. She let herself believe it was true. No one mattered but the two of them.

In his office, Meg sat down on a couch by the door. It was near a lit fireplace and she was little disappointed when he turned on the lights. It was far too bright. Certainly, this would not be the type of meeting Meg was hoping for. Erik leaned against his desk as he reached for some letters he received from Raoul. They were addressed to Mr. Hammerstein, and the man had agreed to meet them at their arrival but all communication between them up to this point was between Raoul and Erik.

"You had a wonderful performance, Meg. Nearly perfect." He told Meg. _Nearly_ broke her heart.

"Thank you, sir."

"I can tell you want something more. Something bigger. More deserving of you talents, more deserving of your time and hard work."

"I'm proud of the work I'm doing now. Of course, my mother worked very hard for the show."

"What I have coming up…essentially my first show, will be different. You're clearly a star, and none of the other girls compare to you. And given _our_ history…" Meg practically blushed at that _our_.

"Essentially, you'll get that role. You'll be _my_ star…but I have something to mention. I know you spoke to your mother after the show. And she told you the news." Meg was suddenly brought back to reality and looked down at her hands. This talk was not going to be about her. It was Christine, _it was always Christine…_

"Yes, I heard about the new arrival. Ten years now. Since…everything."

"Yes." He was surprisingly cold about this; he didn't want to talk about the past.

"Meg, I know you have your concerns. Your mother certainly has, but she and I have been friends since…almost forever. A long time, Meg. And you have to understand, right now, we might not be getting along. We might have a difference of opinion when it comes to Christine. But I would like you to know, you will always be the biggest part of my show. All this time, loyal to us. You could have left, god knows, you've certainly had your offers. Not only professionally but I do remember a gentleman or two wishing to have your hand in marriage."

"What about Christine then? She married Raoul, who will be arriving with her. And their children will too, I assume. What about them?"

Erik was silent for a minute, taking in the question. He looked away from her, took a few steps around the room.

"It's far too bright in here." He turned off the lights but the room was still lit with the fireplace and a lantern or two in the corners of the room. He took a few steps toward Meg but passed her. He remained staring at the fireplace and said,

"This is only a visit. Christine made her choice a long time ago. I doubt she'd return ever again."

"Well, don't you mean for her to stay?" Meg asked slowly, her voice quieted with each passing word. She was terrified to ask. He stared straight at her but she mostly saw the angry angles in his mask. The shadows they caused…

"No."

"What now?" Meg was sick of it; none of this was going to end well. Erik couldn't even tell himself the truth about Christine. He had a plan. And after all these years, all their sacrifices, he still couldn't look to her or her mother as an equal. A true friend he could trust for advice. He had his ideas, he had his ways and no one was going to change a damn thing. Erik took a look at the letters again and said,

"They will be here in a few days. Christine will perform three days after her arrival. And she will leave the next day."

"What do you have planned for her?" Meg was curious to hear about what she would've sung if Christine just stayed in France.

"Just one performance. An aria."

"This is part of your new show then?" Meg asked innocently. If everything goes right, Christine sings it once and she will sing a hundred times after.

"No. This is different. Separate. Independent from all my other work." Erik countered, thinking it would please Meg. She will have an entire new show soon enough.

"This song is only for Christine? And no one else?" Her voice was fragile, she was clearly hurt.

"Christine and you have different vocal ranges. I certainly can't use the same material for you without heavy alteration. It's one little aria. It will soon be buried." He assured her. Meg made a quick smile to prove no hurt feelings. She nodded along, _of course, _she thought as she stared at the floor in defeat. She stood up finally to leave and Erik said,

"It will all be over in less than two weeks."

"Of course." Meg replied, neither believing it.


End file.
